Shoeshine
by x.soaked-silly
Summary: You had been standing there, withering slowly away to nothing. It was so painful to watch- to witness as you crumbled and fell bit by bit and attempted to pick up the pieces by yourself. To sow yourself back together all alone. But you couldn't, because the seams kept coming undone and you were being torn apart. RORI friendship


**Shoeshine**

You had been standing there, withering slowly away to nothing. It was so painful to watch- to witness as you crumbled and fell bit by bit and attempted to pick up the pieces by yourself. To sow yourself back together all alone. But you couldn't, because the seams kept coming undone and you were being torn apart. You couldn't keep up with your small needle and soon you were so damaged no one knew who you were anymore. You walked down the hallways like a ghost, haunting and pale faced, but no one gave you even a side glance. They didn't know who you were, but it's not hard to agree with them on that matter because you made it so difficult to really see who you truly were because the truth is, you didn't even know who you were.

Sometimes I wondered if you even knew you exist in this world.

You walk around sullenly, your clothes dirty and slightly ripped, a representation of yourself. At least so you said a year ago when you rocked back and forth on the balls of your feet excitedly, happiness beaming from your then beautiful now broken eyes while you had on a new "bad boy" outfit and had straightened your hair. You exclaimed that the way people dressed was the way they felt about themselves. Who they really were and that you had turned over to the "bad" side and then you bounced over to go hit on some girls who spit their gum out at you.

So this was the way you felt all along. Like a piece of greasy, ugly clothing. It finally came out and everyone was a fool not to have known that's all you ever felt like your whole life. You could have blamed it on bullies or the fights with your peers, but you knew better than to be angry at someone who wasn't worth the dirt you walked on. If there was one thing people most admired about you, it was the way you so quickly got over things and never held grudges. Even when your so called friend took the girl you were crushing on since the seventh grade away, you didn't complain or whine or do anything really. You just sat there, eyes dead and shirt buttoned the wrong way. No one bothered to fix it for you or even tell you. Instead they laughed, but it wasn't like you noticed anyway.

You always had had a weird way of being oblivious to the more serious things in life, yet noticing the very small, very insignificant details. You called it stopping to smell the delightful roses and that if you always focused on the bigger things in life, you were never going to enjoy yourself and just tire yourself out. No one knew if you were talking from personal experience or not when you said that, so they giggled and laughed, calling you a pansy for being so sensitive and _touchy-feely_. You just gave them a big lopsided smile with your head tilted slightly to the side. You were good like that; never taking things others said to heart I mean.

It seemed like you were invincible to everything and anything even though you were a little wimpy and hadn't fully completed puberty yet as your voice still squawked every now and then. You were the equivalent to Superman, only instead of punches and kicks never hurting you, it was the words that never got to you. Like you so finely and cliche like put, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never ever hurt me!"

Except that, they did really, though it wasn't the words from others. It was mostly the words from yourself. You were Superman, yet at the same time you were kryptonite. It was a bad combination and everyday you were gradually growing weaker and weaker, your strong resolves to never let anything bother you fading away.

When it first became apparent that something was wrong with you, everyone flocked to your side, begging and pleading with you to tell them what was up, but you put on your cool boy facade and just grinned sillily at them and patted them on their heads individually until Trina stood up and twisted your arm behind your back for touching the top of her head and you managed to splutter out that nothing was wrong except for the fact that Trina was ripping your arm off. Everyone chuckled at that, but didn't help you because the bell rang and they rushed off to class, yelling over their shoulders that you'd find a way out of the karate kid's grasp. You always did, they tried to remind you.

Expect that, you didn't always.

After that occurrence, no one ever asked what was up with you again. It wasn't that they didn't care, it was just that you had a habit of pushing everyone who tried to help you away. You would look at them straight, bright eyed and cheery, and say you were okay and then ask about their day. It was funny how much you cared about other peoples' lives and how they were doing, yet no one really was concerned with how you were doing and how your weekend was. I remember when I brought this up with you and you just gave that awkward smirk like you do and ask what I was talking about. "You're crazy," was what you said and when I pressed you just shrugged your shoulders and then squealed about the new sushi place that was opening down the block even though you were allergic to raw fish.

For some reason, you never liked to talk about your life. "My past life isn't important," you'd begin, "because all that's happened has happened in the past, and all I want to do is focus on the future." You'd scoff and then look away, murmuring about how you just randomly go all philosopher at the most random times.

They weren't really random though. I enjoyed whenever you said something like that. It meant you were really there and really paying attention. It made me keep my faith that under all of your disguise, you were still there, struggling to hold on, but still there nevertheless. The others seemed to look right through you when they said that. They never understood, but I can't say that I blame them because I don't even fully understand. Only you understood your ways and you never disclosed them to us. To me. But I didn't push, because you were like a rubix cube. You needed patience to solve its puzzle unless you looked online on how to finish it, but no one bothered to look it up. They just threw it away. Tossed you away because you were to confusing.

Sometimes I had to agree with them. You would walk in one random day with a sudden new, brave outlook on the world. "I just need to shake things up a bit. Change is good," you told me and then had done a little jig right then and there in the hallway as that day's motto was dance when you can because one day you might not have feet. They were stupid mottos, but fun nonetheless. Some of them I even joined you in, like the one were all day you had to wear socks that were tied together as a belt. It was weird, but so enjoyable, plus, whenever I accompanied you in one of your crazy antics, your eyes lit up like fireflies. I liked when your eyes glowed. It meant you were really alive.

Your insane ideas caused skeptics to stare at you, but you didn't care. You strutted around school like you weren't afraid of anything- not even the iron fist of judgement. Some people made fun of you and whispered as you danced, hopped, jogged, sprinted, or whatever you did to your next class, and some laughed openly at you, but others giggled with you.

No one knew where your insanity derived from.

I recall that I asked you once and you, almost reluctantly, told me this very long, very detailed story that started out talking about the weather, the people you saw, and the exact specifics of what you wore- you were always into writing and, in my opinion, were even better at it than Jade, but you hid your talent away from the world just like you hid yourself. I wish you hadn't- your real self was so lovely. So complicated, yet gorgeous.

You were intricate and hard to figure out, yet when I stepped back to look at the whole you- the whole picture- I could see all the little details falling into place creating this image. This beautiful image that hardly anyone ever saw because they were to busy looking at the larger things in life and not the complex designs that could make something so alluring. Made you so appealing.

And maybe that's why you were so judged. Because people only saw the curly haired, four eyed freak that was to obsessed with Harry Potter for his own good- you could recount all the characters' appearances, personality traits, and adventures- and listened to old grandpa music like the Beatles- you owned all your albums- and they only saw the big picture. Not the millions of smaller, tinier pictures which you were composed of. When I first met you, though, I thought you were just a nerd with an oversized puppet, so I didn't really accuse everyone else of being shallow. Besides, for reasons that no one knew, you did, after all, carry around a mean, cruel, ugly puppet that you named Rex.

One time when I questioned you on why you lugged around such a weird item, you responded with, "People think I only carry around Rex because I'm a freak, but I'm a ventriloquist and an actor. What if something happens and I can't make it into college? I'll need a scholarship so I have to practice now." You always looked forward to the future rather than dwelling on the past. Many people didn't know that you wanted to get rid of your past, so you thought about your future and planned ahead to make it the best you could.

You were always obsessed with planning things in advance. Even just hanging out. You hated it when someone asked you last minute to come over their house. You liked to have your schedule neat and orderly in front of you which is why you had a bunch of calendars- most had puppies and kittens on them.

You loved puppies.

I remember the story you told me about the incident with the dog mostly because every time we were together, it would come up in some shape or form; it wasn't like I minded it though and each time you retold it, a new little detail was added and sometimes it changed the whole picture.

You had been pressed for volunteer hours; you were in the National Honors Society after all and your GPA was higher than even a sophomore's in college, or so you bragged. Anyway, you found the number of a shelter and called them and they said that you could work for them- for free of course- and you had jumped up and down, squealing like a little girl and commenting about how you just loved cute fluffy animals. They hung up on you. You made a face for a second, doing that Robbie-frown thing that made you look like a clown, but brightened up almost immediately.

You couldn't sleep that night from excitement. Or, at least that's what you told me.

The next day you biked as fast as you could, breaking the speed limit like a bad boy and were there approximately one hour early and then you had to wait because little did you expect, the shelter's morning shift didn't start until 5:00 A.M. For someone as smart as yourself, it was surprising to hear that; you had a special way of being even stupider than Cat herself. The whole time you waited outside, ear pressed creepily against the door so that you could hear the dogs barking and the cats meowing.

Time dragged on slowly, but finally your first shift started and after everything was thoroughly explained and reexplained to you, you headed off to the section with the puppies. What you saw shocked you. There were many little itty bitty puppies that looked healthy and fine, but there were even more that looked helpless and hurt. Some had no legs. Some had no eyes. Some had no fur. And the list went on and on, but the thing you stressed the most was that some of the dogs just looked mangled and tired even though they had only been living for a short amount of time. You quickly headed off, mouth gaping, to the section with the grown dogs, hoping that they were better.

They weren't.

I recall that you described them as pitiful creatures. They were even worse than the puppies. While some of the puppies looked dead and defeated and hadn't even sampled true life yet, these dogs had a shine to their chocolate brown eyes even in the midst of disease and pain because they had had a taste of what life was like, and they were just glad to be living. You said it changed you to see animals like that, just content to be living.

You spent a few weeks there and you mentioned that your favorite was an older beagle who had patches of missing fur, a wrangled foot, and had contracted a deadly disease. You wouldn't tell me the name of the disease- you had forbidden the use of it- but you told me it kills them gradually from the inside out. You renamed it Shoeshine after one of your favorite movies- Underdog- and you said that's where you spent nearly all your time. You would talk to him and tell him what was going on in the world and even though he couldn't understand, he would wag his broken tail and bark a little. You would giggle- because you were always more of a giggler than a chuckler- and pet him through the bars that resembled a prison cell.

You told me that Shoeshine was a fighter, and even when he started to lose the strength- you refused to describe it as will- to eat, he kept trucking on and you saw a depth in those silly brown eyes that you've never seen before. You saw the love that beagle felt for you when it placed its paw on your leg through the bars. You saw humanity in that beagle when it would softly nuzzle you on the arm when it noticed you were upset.

You said it was more of a person than anyone you had ever met.

You begged your family to let you adopt Shoeshine, but of course your mom had a serious case of OCD and couldn't take it if the dog shed all over the house and so you resolved to just spend more hours at the shelter to the point where even your friends became concerned for your welfare, but you told them not to worry and that you would be okay and you were right because soon your life went back to normal. Or, "As normal as it could be," as you would say because the dog died one day. It wasn't unexpected; you had seen it coming from a mile away. In fact, you had seen it coming minutes before he passed so you had let yourself noisily into his cage and you sat down next to him. His paw was over his chest and his head was on the ground while his ears drooped. You screamed and you yelled and you _hollered_ for help until someone called the vet, but you knew it was to late. So you gathered him up in your arms, silently crying, and you stroked his fur and you told him how he was such a good boy. How he was such a super dog just like Underdog. Shoeshine had wagged his tail weakly and his eyes looked right up into yours and you swear to the Heavens and back that you could see them sparkling. You could tell that at that moment Shoeshine wished he could talk to you more than ever, so you helped him with his words and you nodded like you understood.

"I know buddy, I know," you whimpered quickly and it was ironic that you used that word because usually only dogs whimper. You massaged his chest and soon his droopy eyes closed and his breathing steadied for a little bit. You began to have a spark of faith that this was all just a scare and maybe he was just tired, but soon he was turning deathly cold and that's when you really started bawling.

You didn't go back to the shelter after that, but you kept your infinity for dogs and loved everyone to bits and pieces, especially the ones with disabilities. They always reminded you of Shoeshine, you'd tell me, and then you'd go on to say that it wasn't in the bad way. It just went to show me that you were so sensitive. It impressed me sometimes how in touch you seemed to be with your emotions on occasions. To some you might've looked girly and weak, but to me you never seemed more strong and manly.

When I told you that you brushed it off with a laugh and then a toss of your head, telling me that I made you happy in an almost flirty way though I was well aware you had no intentions for me even though afterwards you offered to let me feel your almost nonexistent muscles. I told you not to press your luck and you listened and backed off, like always.

You were always so great at listening and observing it was a little frightening. Someone could tell you something and you'd remember it for years even if they had forgotten it. I can recall how at the beginning of the year I told you about my minuscule problems with this stalker and then at nearly the end of the year, you sat me down and with a fatherly worry you asked me if I ever got rid of the stalker. I hadn't even remembered the stalker, but you did. I didn't understand why you always listened with ferocious intensity. Honestly, it was scary, but it was good. People would have liked coming to you to talk if they had known really how good of a listener you were. I would have come to you more.

Beck tells me that anything he ever told you was always kept a secret. You never revealed someone's personal life to another; you weren't even tempted. He also tells me that one time when nearly all of his cousins and aunts were contracting cancer because of a freak incident that you listened as he vented to you. You stood stock still as he even punched you and broke your jaw- I had always wondered were that came from but you refused to tell anyone- and then he yelled at you, asking why you weren't saying anything. Then the tears started falling from your eyes, he says, and you responded lowly that you couldn't talk because if you did then you would start crying for his cousins. For him. Then you stood to your feet and hugged Beck tightly and even when he tried to push you off, you held him close. "It's okay," you told him. "You can cry." And then he did. Beck tells me that you always knew how to handle people and I believe him because I had seen the way you were so in touch with others emotions.

You always knew, even if you weren't that good of friends with the person, what someone was feeling. "Because I know the feeling," you had explained to me when I asked you how you were always able to identify what a person was going through on the inside. I had demanded to know why, but you just shrugged your shoulders, gave me that lopsided sly grin that you were prone to giving, and said, "I guess I'm just kind of girly, huh?" Then you giggled in a high voice and I just stared at you. You twirled your short curly hair around you fingers and that's when I started laughing. I died of laughter and you just watched me the whole time with a disgusted look on your face, but it was easy to tell that were enjoying yourself as well.

You seemed to have had it all. The good personality, the big house, the loving family, the true loyal friends. I just can't believe I really thought everything was alright. I overlooked so many things. I wished that I had texted you more when you started to take off from school or came over more when you told me that you were "sick." But you were always a great actor. Maybe not greater than Jade, but great nonetheless and I couldn't tell that anything was wrong. I should have when I went over your house that one time. The mansion had been spotless and it was all white, creepily so. Everything was sterilized. You told me it was for your allergies. You were lying. When we went upstairs to your room, it was to small to even be called cozy. It was suffocatingly small. When I asked why you didn't move out into one of your many empty rooms, you told me that it was easier to keep things neat and clean in a small area and you liked small places. What a fib. Anyway, we went back out to the living room when I declined your invitation to work in there and started to make progress on our script. Really it was yours, mine, Cat's, Jade's, Andre's, and Beck's, but they had all claimed to be busy so it was up to us.

You worked really hard.

Especially when your family came home. I greeted them kindly and cutely remarked that they all sort of matched. When I questioned where they had gone because they were all kind of dressed up, your dad blankly replied with dinner and yanked at his tie a little bit. I looked at you oddly because I had been wondering why they didn't take you when it seemed to be a nice family dinner. Your dad caught my eye and cooly responded with, "Robbie didn't come with us because he wanted to stay here just in case you came while we were gone, and he was right. You did come while we were gone. What a smart son." I had smiled, satisfied with the pitiful answer.

"Aw, Robbie!" I cooed and ruffled your hair and you nervously thwacked it off. "You don't have to be so embarrassed!" Your little sister snorted.

"Yes he does," she quietly sassed and then ran up the stairs to her room. You pretended like you didn't hear it, even though we all knew you had the hearing of a bat. There wasn't much talking after that; it was like you became completely enveloped in the work and whenever I brought up the topic of your family, you pretended to be to engrossed in the project to hear me. I knew that was impossible since you were always listening- even into other people's conversation for God knows why- but I had dropped it.

You were always such a closed book. You kept your feelings bottled up inside of you. I think that's the reason you had Rex. So you could express yourself rather than practicing your ventriloquism so that you wouldn't explode. Anyway, you had this habit of pushing everyone away by not opening up to them. You let them run over you and take the spot light. You acted like you didn't mind and maybe you didn't, but it was still scarring. When I had begged you to open up to me, you said that there was nothing to open up about, but a few weeks later you showed up on my doorstep, wielding a bouquet of flowers and asking to come in. They weren't a sign of love, but friendship, and while I raised my eyebrow in question to you, I felt warm on the inside. You could always make me feel warm. You really brightened my day.

You sat down the couch and just stared at the T.V. It was turned off. I took a seat beside you and we sat in silence for a few moments. "Alright, what's wrong," I deadpanned and then you just burst into tears and it was like all the years of pretending you weren't hurting was coming out right then. You cried and you cried and then you cried some more. I made you some hot cocoa and rubbed you on your back melodically. "Robbie, what happened?" I begged to know, but you didn't say anything. The tears just kept falling. A few hours passed until you were finally calm enough to tell me why you were here.

"I got kicked out of my house."

"Has it happened before?"

Silence.

"You can stay here."

We never spoke of it again, but whenever you looked at me you had this thankful glint in your eyes that I could never comprehend. I didn't do much for you, but- you showed this through your actions- you felt like you owed me the world. If there was something that always annoyed me about you, it was that you were always a favor person. If someone did something mildly nice to you, you did something amazingly great for them. It made everyone feel insignificant, like they didn't really do anything at all for you like you did for them.

Anyway, the days dragged on as normal and I guess you were accepted back into your house, but in a few weeks you were back on my porch step again- or so the security camera my dad installed shows- but I wasn't home so you sat down and scribbled out a note. You placed it in the mailbox and then walked away sullenly. When I got home I found it and ripped it open. It didn't say much, but it told me the universe about you.

_Dear Tori,_

_I got kicked out again. Sometimes I just can't stand it anymore._

I decided to write back and you apparently got it and we spent the next month exchanging notes. You were always a classic gentleman, so while I started my letters out with just "Robbie," you always started it out with "Dear Tori." You told me how bullies from your sister's school were making fun of you and how people from your old town still picked on you. You told me that you were getting tired and while I was thrilled you were finally opening up, I was beyond worried. Eventually it came to the point where you said your family was being mean to you. When I asked why people were teasing you, you said it was just because you had Rex.

_Robbie,_

_It's time to let go (it will be okay)._

We didn't send anymore letters after that. In fact, that was the one of the last times we had truly spoken besides pointless conversations about the weather and the school day. I didn't understand why.

You started dressing funny and you roamed the halls without an objective. You looked lost and just run down. You looked like a zombie and you countered that by saying you were working hard to get the part of a zombie in this town play.

There was no play in your town.

Soon you stopped coming to school. I would send you a bunch of messages, but all I got in reply was a:

_Dear Tori,_

_I'm sick._

You were never sick. No matter what anyone else said about you, you were never sick. You were kind hearted, considerate, sensitive, a good listener, loyal, complex, and so many other things, but you were not sick.

A few weeks later the intercom came on and it was announced that you had passed away. I was shocked and had bolted to your house. Your parents weren't home so I ran up to your room. Everything lay untouched and on the bed there was a little card. It was addressed to me.

_Dear Tori,_

_It is time to let go (it will be okay)._

Then, on another sheet of paper, it read the words, "I'm gay." On yet another one it said, "And I live in a Jewish family."

Being gay was a crime to your family. I remember everyone in our little group cried for days on end, with the exception of Jade who wasn't one for crying so spent only a small amount of time being depressed. I also remember that I had gone up to your parents a few days later and screamed at them. Yelled, hollered. And they cried. They broke down and told me the house was sterilized so that you wouldn't get your "disease ridden self" all over the house. Your room was small so that the "disease" couldn't escape. You were kicked out because they were worried if you spent to much time in the house, the other family members could "catch your disease." They had known all along you were gay. I wondered if the bullies you mentioned also knew. I couldn't speak.

Your parents told me that they had been wrong and it had taken your death for them to realize this. They told me that they wanted to be left alone.

So I left and on the way home I drove into a little pet shop and picked up a beagle puppy. I was told I wasn't allowed to keep it so a few days later I drove back over to your parents. I held out the puppy to them and they looked at with uncertain eyes.

"It's name is Shoeshine," I said with narrowed eyes. They seemed hesitant for a moment, but then your dad reached out to grab it and he held it close to his heart as a few tears fell. "Thank you," he mouthed and I nodded and then left, though I returned almost every day to see the puppy.

It's growing up now and I see a lot of the qualities you said that special dogs could have. It knows when I'm upset and it sort of tries to cheer me up by making me laugh and running into a chair or something- at least I think it is. It likes to snuggle up to me and it will just sit there as I talk to it if it's not been its hyperactive puppy self. I like how it knows when it can get away with things and I like how it's learning its tricks fast.

But what I like most about it is that it has that sparkle to its brown eyes just like yours did.


End file.
